Domesticated
by CrimzonChyld
Summary: NOW TAKING DOMESTICATED REQUESTS/PROMPTS. Wincest Curtain! Fic. Don't like, don't read. It is a series in which each story is complete so you are encouraged to subscribe since there will be updates. Eventual prequel to come.
1. Rain

**While I slave over my What It Takes fic, I keep getting these ideas that pop into my head and will not go away until I write them. This is another one of those and in fact, there seems to be a long line of these waiting impatiently for their turn. If you like this fic enough, I encourage you to follow it because although it says complete that is because each fic will be complete in its own right but I want them to be all in the same place if that makes any sense. Also, since What It Takes needs more attention, there's no telling how often I will write these little ficlets. Guess you could call this my first curtain! fic. One day I will write how they got to this point, just not yet. And if you recognize this, yeah it's inspired by that commercial about being able to buy your own house. What? It's cute!  
**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam never thought much about the rain unless he was stuck out in it during a hunt. Or if they were staying in another crappy motel room, or squatting somewhere where and the roof leaked. Other than that, rain never seemed to warrant a thought. Like snow, wind, fog, sleet and sun, it was just there and didn't make much of a difference until they were hunting.

So with that in mind, it was with some confusion, Sam woke up in the dead of night, wondering why hearing the pitter - patter of rain hitting the roof and the windows was so utterly fascinating. He simply could not fathom why he lay in bed being almost hypnotized by the sound. Even the sound of that same rain draining out of the gutters seemed so awe-inspiring.

Sam rolled to his side. For a moment he studied the profile of the man sleeping beside him. Dean, his brother, turned lover, turned . . . partner? Sam wrinkled his nose. Yes, Dean was his partner in many ways but he didn't like the word in terms of them being together. As in together-together. The type of together that Dean once called "sick". That was before it was necessary. Afterwards, when the necessity ended, they discovered it was what they wanted.

Looking at Dean now, thinking about what led them to this point and what their lives were now, he suddenly understood why listening to the rain was so riveting.

"Dean," he said softly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Dean, wake up."

Sam felt slightly guilty when Dean started, jerking awake almost immediately. Sam knew that these days, Dean slept so much better than he used to. They both had occasional nightmares, which Dean never admitted to. It was part of the hunting life they used to have and for them it also probably had to do with how frequently they lost each other in the past. These days though, instead of Dean's standard three to four hours, he usually slept through the night.

"Wha - wazwrong - where's my knife?" Dean babbled half coherently.

"Nothing," Sam soothed him immediately, "nothing's wrong, it's okay, just . . . just listen."

Dean stilled instantly. They both lay there silently, the sound of the rain increased slightly.

"Okay, I give up, what am I listening to?" Dean asked after a few minutes.

"The rain," Sam said quietly.

Although he couldn't see the details of Dean's face in the dark, Sam could easily imagine the look Dean was giving him. He probably thought that Sam was insane.

The tone of Dean's voice confirmed it, "You woke me up . . . to listen to the _rain_?"

"It's not just any rain," Sam explained, "it's _our_ rain."

"Our rain?" Dean asked warily.

"_Our_ rain," Sam clarified, "on _our_ roof . . . on _our_ house."

Dean was quiet again for a few beats before correcting him, "Our _home_."

Sam smiled, "Yeah . . . yeah, our home."

They both stayed still, the rain keeping up its steady pattern. Beating down on their very own roof and hitting their very own windows. Sam sighed in contentment. Maybe this wasn't exactly the "normal" he always envisioned but he couldn't help thinking that this was even better than he ever experienced before and could ever even imagine.

The steady, deep breathing next to him signaled that Dean had fallen back asleep. Sam scooted closer and slipped his arms around him. Dean, unresisting, curled into him, somehow knowing even in sleep that it was Sam holding him. He kissed Dean's temple and settled down into the pillows again.

"I think I love the rain," Sam whispered into Dean's hair before following him into sleep.


	2. Candy Hearts

**So I had it pointed out that Sam & Dean are kinda OOC in this 'verse and well . . . yeah, they are. But it goes with the territory of a curtain! fic I think. Plus, they are, in this 'verse . . . domesticated. ;)  
**

**Full Schmoop Ahead!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

The light from the street lamp outside filtered dimly into the room from the partially open curtain across from the bed. Sam lay, stretched out on his stomach staring at the amulet's steady rise and fall in time with his brother's breathing as it rested on his bare chest. On every intake of breath the amulet caught the light, a quick glint, a wink in the darkness.

It was a small favor that Dean had the amulet at all, a token of affection from a witch no less. She'd had it since the day Dean dropped it in the trash can in that motel room.

However, today was not the day to dwell on the bad things that happened in the past, on old hurt feelings.

It was Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day had never meant much other than an empty construction paper mail box in school for Sam. Not that he blamed anyone, he wasn't in school long enough for anyone to give him one of those tiny little valentine cards that their mom's bought at the store for them to give to all their classmates. Sam didn't have a mom and they didn't have the money to waste on those little cards even if he was in school for longer than a week, so he didn't give anyone cards either. Occasionally, one of the nicer kids would feel sorry for him and give him one but that didn't happen often. It didn't really matter anyway because every year, until he was 12 at least, when he opened his backpack when he got to school, he'd find a box of Sweetheart candies tucked inside. Even if the back of the box wasn't filled out in the "To:" "From:" area, he knew where they came from and it never failed to make him smile.

Sam had never actually had a girlfriend on Valentine's Day until Jessica. He wanted to make it special, like he thought a boyfriend should do for his girlfriend. So, being a "poor, starving, student" he took his what meager funds he had and did what he thought he'd never do again since leaving for Stanford.

He hustled some pool.

Sam even surprised himself by doing pretty damn well. He'd gotten enough money for some flowers (no roses because Jess thought they were lame), one of those big heart-shaped boxes with chocolates. Then he took her out to dinner to, well, not a really fancy place, but a place that he had to have reservations at none the less. Even though Jess had enjoyed it all she had insisted that he hadn't had to go to so much trouble.

"Sure that's what they say," Dean had once commented. "But you know that if you forget about their birthday or Valentine's Day or your anniversary, whatever, they throw a total fit over it."

Sam wasn't sure how true that was of Jess but then again, Jess was "normal" so maybe it had been.

He and Amelia hadn't been together for Valentine's Day. He doubted he would have made any effort there. It's not that he didn't care about her, love her even. Just, their relationship was built on them both being broken. It didn't seem like a hearts and cherubs kind of romance.

This time around, although it came without cards, without flowers and without candy (Well, not totally without candy, Sam did give Dean a box of cherry cordials because watching him eat them was better than any porn, swear to gawd!) it was the best Valentine's Day Sam had ever experienced. They'd ordered in, made love twice . . . three times if you counted the fooling around in the extra-large shower in between. Then Dean had dozed off for a little while.

Dean wouldn't admit any of it had to do with Valentine's Day, though. To be honest it was just like any other day except for the ordering in part. Dean had rolled his eyes and snorted at the present of chocolates, which Sam didn't mind. He knew his brother well enough to know that Dean liked the gift, just didn't want to show it since it was such a goddamn girly thing to do. Dean had wasted no time into tearing into the package after dinner, starting his torture of Sam by eating the cherry cordials slowly and deliberately. Licking away all the cherry liqueur before sucking the cherry into his mouth, one at a time, until Sam launched himself at Dean, seeming to start an intense battle over the last cherry to disappear behind Dean's lips.

Sam sighed quietly with a smile.

"You are such a girl." Dean's voice didn't really surprise Sam, he could tell by his older brother's breathing that he had woken up some time ago.

"What?" Sam asked innocently.

Dean opened his eyes and turned his head towards him with his patented smirk, "I know you've been looking at me the whole time I've been asleep."

Sam shrugged, "Not the _whole_ time."

"Now you're laying over there sighing-" Dean started.

"I wasn't sighing," Sam defended. "Once, I sighed once. Fine, y'know what?" Sam rolled over onto his back, "There, now I won't being sighing anymore."

"Butthurt much?" Dean chuckled.

It was Sam's turn to smirk, "No, but I bet yours does."

Dean groaned, "Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Pretty much," Sam smiled at the ceiling.

Dean huffed, "I'm too tired for any . . . witty repartee."

"Repartee, Dean?" Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. "Repartee? Careful on those big words, you might sprain your tongue."

In a lightning fast move, Sam was on top of Dean, pinning him to the mattress, "And I'm gonna need that for later."

Sam ducked his head and slid his own tongue across Dean's lower lip. Dean leaned up enough to capture Sam's lips with is own only to have him pull away. Sam held his parted lips just out of Dean's reach, hovering where their mouth barely brushed together. When Dean growled low in his throat and tensed like he was about to throw Sam off, Sam finally leaned in and plunder's Dean's mouth. It was a fight for domination after that, which Sam ultimately won when he ground his hips into Dean's causing his older brother to gasp into the kiss, then moan.

Sam pulled back when he had successfully kissed Dean breathless.

"Now who's the girl?" Sam asked smugly.

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean said without heat, regaining his smirk.

Dean then succeeded in flipping them over and having his wicked way with Sam. Not that Sam put up much of a fight.

All in all, it was a very good end to a very good Valentine's Day.

The next morning, Sam woke before Dean, as usual. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen to make coffee, while it was brewing he checked all the salt lines. Then he padded back down the hall into the smallest of the three bedrooms where he kept his laptop.

He was already sitting when he saw it, the coffee cup halfway to his lips when he froze. Sam stared motionless for several minutes before setting the cup down and reaching out.

There, on the lid of the closed laptop, was a box of Sweethearts.

Sam picked it up gingerly, almost expecting that it would disappear if he actually touched it. Years of empty construction paper mail boxes came back to him, reminding him that those empty boxes never mattered. It was the tiny box of hearts that was important.

He guessed this Valentine's Day came with candy after all.

Sam smiled.


	3. Wearing O' The Green

**So this was supposed to be posted on St Patrick's Day obviously but I've not had the time, so it's three days late. I hadn't actually been planning to make this series holiday themed but I can't seem to help myself. Though really, the holiday isn't that prominent in this story, just an excuse for Dean to give Sam a pinch.  
**

**FYI, lots of talk about butts in this one, I have no idea why.**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam was in the kitchen, pouring himself a second cup of coffee when Dean shuffled in, squint-eyed and yawning. Sam would have thought he was adorable if it weren't for the fact that Dean was his brother and his brother would want to kick his ass for even thinking such a word in relation to himself.

Besides, Dean wasn't all that adorable in the baggy, grey sweat pants he wore. The dark green tee-shirt that looked at least one size to small and stretched across his chest and torso, that was fine but those pants . . .

Sam pursed his lips, one night he swore he was going to burn those things. They weren't _terrible_ . . . just baggy. His jeans were good, his briefs were good, his boxer briefs were good but those baggy sweat pants? Sam didn't care how warm and comfortable they were, they obstructed the view of Dean's ass. It's not that he didn't get to see it on a daily basis but could Sam help it if, whenever Dean was walking around in plain view, he'd like to be able to ogle said backside?

It was sort of ironic that he was thinking about backsides because as he turned towards the dining room while Dean poured his own coffee, Sam felt a sudden pinch to his own ass.

Sam nearly spilled his coffee over himself as he jumped and let out a very undignified yelp.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, whirling to face his now smirking brother, "What the hell?"

Dean just shrugged, "You're not wearing green."

"What?" Sam asked irritably.

"It's St. Patrick's Day, dude."

Sam huffed, "We're not even Irish, Dean!"

"That may be true," Dean agreed, "but I'll celebrate any holiday that encourages excessive drinking."

Sam snorted, "Like you need an excuse."

"If you haven't noticed, I don't drink as much as I used to." Dean pointed out, "I think this is as dry as I've been since . . . like, ever. I drink less now than I did when I was with . . ."

Dean trailed off. Sam knew he was thinking about Lisa. It made Sam often wonder if Dean regretted his decision to literally erase every trace of himself from their lives. Lisa and Ben would never remember him but Dean always would. It always made Sam feel horrible, like he was the reason that things ended with her the way they had. He couldn't make himself regret how their lives ended up though, not for a second.

"So, what's your plan for today?" Sam asked, needing to take that far away look off his brother's face. "Or in other words, how many bars are you planning on hitting?

"Just one," Dean said with a smirk. "You're coming with, Sammy."

Sam scowled because basically, Sam would be on babysitting duty, otherwise known as the designated driver. He didn't protest though, Dean deserved a little fun after all.

That's how the ended up in Doherty's Pub that night, surrounded by loud obnoxious people and drinking green beer.

Sam sat in a darkened corner, nursing his green beer and now wearing a string of green beads that had been foisted upon him by a very insistent, inebriated redhead. Dean had been playing darts and pool for fun instead of profit, though really, it mostly reminded Sam of their hunting days. Only Sam wasn't on his laptop doing research while Dean chatted with the locals and flirted with everything in a skirt. He sort of wish he had brought his laptop, anything was better than watching the girls in the bar watching Dean as he bent over the pool table. Although Sam knew that no one had rights to Dean's ass but him, he still wished he was the only one with leering rights as well. Somehow, telling himself that it didn't matter who flirted with Dean and who stared at him with lust in their eyes, Dean still went home with him, wasn't all that satisfying. Sam wanted to advertise his right to grope Dean but didn't particularly want to be punched in the face by his brother afterwards.

Dean had a PDA phobia.

Or maybe it was just a sharing PDAs with his _brother_ phobia. Even if no one in town knew they were brothers.

The important thing was that Dean appeared to be having fun, even if the women in the pub were starting to get a little touchy-feely as the night wore on.

When Dean finished his game, he sauntered over to sit with Sam, swaying a little in his seat.

"Dude, is that still your first?" Dean asked only slightly slurring, he was always able to handle his liquor but they'd been there for a few hours and Sam knew Dean had done shots at some point as well as the beer, and there was the whiskey too.

"Designated driver, dude." Sam sighed, then frowned. "Why is there green lipstick on your face?" His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Hm? Oh," Dean wiped at the side of his face, "very friendly redhead, gave me this." He pulled out scrap of paper and handed to Sam.

It was a phone number with the name Cheri written in very curly letters. The "I" was even obnoxiously dotted with a heart.

Sam nodded, "Tell me something, was she twelve?"

Dean snorted and Sam asked, "Can I borrow your lighter?"

Dean handed over his zippo and Sam promptly lit the offending paper on fire and gave the lighter back to Dean who was chuckling.

"Whassamatter, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Jealous?"

"Not at all," Sam responded, dropping the charred paper in his almost empty glass. "Can we go now?"

"Alright buzz kill," Dean rolled his eyes and stood up with Sam, having to grab his arm to walk steadily,

"Y'know, we could stay if you wanted," Sam offered as he led Dean through the still crowded bar towards the exit.

Dean shook his head, "I drink anymore I won't be able to do what I wanna do when we get home."

Sam grinned as much from the word "home", which still hadn't lost its appeal all these month later, as the implications, "And what would that be?"

Without warning, Dean shoved him against the side of the bar and, as far as Sam could tell, tried to extract Sam's tonsils with his tongue. Sam definitely did not mind and since he couldn't talk, communicated as such by grabbing Dean's ass with both hands, pressing their bodies close together. Dean groaned into his mouth Sam smiled into the kiss.

It was only through the catcalls and cheers that Sam suddenly remembered that they were in a crowded bar and managed to extract himself from Dean's grasp long enough to haul him towards the door so they could leave. He passed by a very disgruntled looking redhead and repressed the urge to give her a smug smile.

It wasn't until he was in the Impala, with his drunk brother who promptly started to grope him while nipping at his exposed neck, that Sam realized that Dean had actually indulged in a very public mini make out in the bar. Sam had never minded PDAs and in fact loved to indulge in them at every moment because, truth be told, he liked to stake his claim for all to see. He understood that Dean didn't share his view and always tried to respect that. Tonight though, Dean made an exception, and whether it was the holiday or the drinking or wanting to send out a very clear message to the annoying redheaded chick with green lipstick who Sam was starting to suspect was a succubus, it didn't really matter. Dean got his point across.

And Sam was going to get his own point across when they got home.

Though, _that_ particular point was private.


	4. Loud

**Still working on What It Takes, slow going at the moment to make it good and then I typed up this because I liked the idea. Updating it NOT on a holiday.**

**So, had to up the rating on this. It was bound to happen eventually. It's nothing too terribly graphic but well, stuff happens.**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam is freaking loud

It's not something that Dean ever thought he'd have such intimate knowledge of, not something he actually minds, either. To tell the truth, Dean has always appreciated the more vocal of bed partners. Of course, there is a fine line between genuinely loud and ludicrous. Dean's not stupid, just because he's a guy doesn't mean he doesn't know the difference between a fake orgasm and a real one.

With Sam though . . . he's just so . . . _loud._

It was surprising is all.

When they first had to start having sex, one of those screw or die sort of situations, Sam was quiet. Not silent, mind you, but not very loud at all. It was all panting and whimpering and low moans and whispers.

It was incredibly and unexpectedly hot.

Unexpectedly because it was his friggin' _brother._

Dean had trouble coming to terms with the whole bottoming issue. He was the eldest, so he was supposed to be the one in charge and he was supposed to be the dominate partner in any relationship. Having to be equal as hunting partners with Sam did not mean having to be equal in bed. If they had to do this thing, they were going to do it his way because . . . well, because Dean was a _man_ for God's sake.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Sam was a man too. Even though he was all sensitive and liked to talk about feelings, and did that puppy dog thing with his eyes, and had stupidly long hair (that Dean secretly loved and would _never_ admit).

That was part of the problem too. Sam was a man, a freakishly tall man. While Dean had become quite adept at getting as much as Sam's perfectly - proportionate - to - his - height - dick down his throat, the thought of it going anywhere else was a bit intimidating.

It took a really long time for Dean to agree to even give bottoming a try. A really, really long time, a lot of promises to stop if he said so, and lots and lots of lube.

Oh, and lots of fellatio during the initial stretching, naturally.

Once they were actually doing it, Dean thought it wasn't so bad after all. It was rather nice as a matter of fact.

Then Sam hit his prostate.

Holy.

Fucking.

Hell.

Dean just started babbling at that point, _fuck, fucking, fuck, harder, faster, son of a fucking bitch, oh fuck, yesyesyesyes._

In retrospect it was really pretty embarrassing.

Eventually though, he learned that, there were certain things Sam would never mock him about, like something that was liable to make Dean uncomfortable. Like how Dean found out he really, _really_ liked taking it in the ass.

Or that apparently Dean could be rather noisy as was proven a few times when staying at a crummy motel by the pounding on the walls. That was easy enough to ignore unless some idiot decided to start throwing the word "faggot" around, the results of which always ended rather badly for said idiot.

The thing was, Dean had never been particularly vocal during sex himself. Years of having to keep quiet when living with Sam were ingrained in him. So the loving being on the receiving end of things was about as surprising as the fact that he couldn't control the volume of his voice when taking it.

It caused him to wonder though, if he was doing something wrong with Sam. After all, if it felt even half as good when Dean hit Sam's prostate (which he did hit it as was indicated by Sam's breathy whisper of "there, there, there") then it was perplexing that Sam still reminded so quiet. Dean couldn't contain the euphoric words pouring from his mouth yet Sam would stay hushed, biting his lip so hard he was likely to draw blood. Dean eventually assumed that Sam was just more reserved, which made sense to him, Sam being his bookish little brother, and that was that.

Then they moved into this house. This house in a quiet suburban neighborhood with nice thick, insulated walls and neighbors that didn't practically live on top of them.

It took a few weeks before Sam became comfortable with the idea that they actually had some real privacy from the world for a change. At least that's what Dean assumed because it took that long for Sam's usual quiet panting to do a complete 180.

Suddenly, Sam sounded like a freakin' freight train. All loud moaning and completely filthy encouragement spilling from his lips and very nearly screaming in ecstasy as he came. If Dean hadn't been so lost it the heat that was his brother, he might have muttered "Cristo".

Once Dean came back down to earth he asked Sam what the hell had happened. Sam had blushed and dodged the question for a while but eventually, knowing that Dean would pester him until he gave it, Sam explained himself.

"It's just that," Sam bit his lower lip, in concentration. "Well, before, when we started doing this, we were always in hotels. I just, I didn't want other people to listen to us or really, to me."

"You were embarrassed?" Dean had questioned.

Sam shrugged, "That might have been a part of it but it was more than that. It was like, what we were doing was private. It was something that was just ours. You're the only one that I've ever been with like this and I didn't want to share that and if I knew other people were listening to me, it just felt like, I dunno, like it didn't belong just to us anymore. Guess it doesn't really make sense, does it?"

Dean just kissed him because he understood Sam. They were brothers and siblings often think alike so Dean understood how this was just for them, no one else was privy to it.

Dean liked it that way too.

He liked that Sam was loud, it was quite the ego booster.

And if Dean ever missed those delicious sounding whimpers . . .

Well, he knew other ways to draw those out of Sam.

But that's a different story altogether.


	5. Bunny Boy

**Like I said, I hadn't planned for these to be holiday themed but well . . . **

**Happy Easter!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

"No, Dean," Sam insisted, almost desperately into his cell phone. "I'm fine I don't need you to pick me up . . . No, it's okay, you don't have to . . . . Dean, I don't - dammit!"

Sam stared morosely at his phone, Dean had abruptly hung up on him after insisting on coming to pick him up from work, just like he did almost every single day. Okay, not even almost, it _was_ every single day. So of course he would come today, Sam shouldn't have tried to convince him otherwise. It had only made Dean suspicious.

Sam pocketed his cell and glared at the monstrosity before him. He didn't mind having a "real" job, he really didn't. Maybe he didn't exactly enjoy working electronics in a department store but he didn't mind it. It was just a job. Something to pay the bills until he figured out what he really wanted to do with his life.

When he did figure it out he was going to make damn sure it had nothing to do with parading around in an embarrassing costume.

With a huff, Sam pulled the blue (at least it wasn't pink) bunny costume from the hanger in front of him. Just his luck that he would be chosen for Easter Bunny duty, giving out plastic eggs to the children in the store, posing for pictures, pretending not to want to strangle the kids who would surely kick him in the shins or scream at the site of him.

He had been so certain that he was much too tall for any stupid suit but oh, no, it was going to fit just fine.

Awesome.

At least it included a big bunny head he could hide behind.

He was fairly sure he hated Easter.

A few hours later, at the end of his shift, he headed towards the break room, ready to get out of the stifling suit. It was damn hot in the thing and standing in the front of the store with the huge windows letting in the bright, bright sunlight was not helping.

Before reaching the break room, he broke decorum and took off the head and took a huge breath of fresh air. If he broke some kid's heart by dispelling the illusion that he was, in fact, the Easter Bunny, too bad. He wasn't willing to suffocate for the cause. He was anxious to get out of the suit before Dean showed up.

Sam found out though, even without hunting, Winchester luck never changed.

As soon as he took the head of the suit off and headed for the stairs to the break room, he was stopped by the sound of hysterical laughter behind him. Sam closed his eyes, he'd know that laughter anywhere. He turned slowly and saw his brother just a few feet away, he'd had to have just shown up at the store since Sam hadn't seen him before. Currently, Dean was doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed, all but pointing at Sam.

Sam's chin jutted out and he walked over to Dean who had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard.

"Something funny, Dean?" Sam asked his brother.

"Dude," Dean gasped out, "have you _seen_ yourself?"

Sam sighed, yes he'd seen himself and if it was Dean parading around in a big blue bunny suit he doubted that he'd be able to quell his own laughter. Still, that wasn't the point. The point was that _Sam_ was in the suit and _Dean_ was laughing at him and after nearly asphyxiating the last few hours, Sam was _not_ in the mood.

Sam spun around and marched towards the stairs, head held high. This only seemed to make Dean laugh even harder.

Sam turned around again and hissed, "Keep it up and you won't be getting any for a week."

As Sam headed once again for the stairs, he noted with a small amount of satisfaction, the laughing had ceased.

Ten minutes later, Sam was sliding into the Impala where Dean was waiting for him.

"Hey bunny boy," Dean snickered.

"Not one more word," Sam said through clenched teeth.

"Aw, whasamatter, Sammy?" Dean grinned, pulling out of the parking lot, "Have some trouble laying your eggs?"

"I swear to God, Dean . . ."

Laying a hand on Sam's thigh, Dean said, "Don't get your cotton tail in a knot . . ."

Sam took Dean's hand and placed it back on the wheel, "_Two_ weeks, Dean."

Dean make a disbelieving noise, "Oh c'mon Sam, that's not exactly fair . . . besides, I got you a present."

Sam glared at Dean suspiciously, Dean didn't look at him but said, "It's in the glove compartment."

Sam cautiously opened the glove compartment and withdrew the medium-sized velvet covered box. He opened it with a frown and stared at the contents.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, "this isn't . . . I mean, is this -"

"Consider it your Easter egg," Dean smirked.

Thirty minutes later, Sam lay naked and moaning in bed while Dean turned up the dial on the remote control vibrating egg that was buried in his ass.

If he'd had the ability to form coherent thoughts, he might have realized that perhaps he didn't hate Easter after all.

In fact, maybe Easter was fucking _awesome_.


	6. Normal Love

**Spoiler alert for season eight.**

**Nothing dirty this time. I just came up with this because I'm tired of hearing about Amelia, she's GONE, let it GO! Dammit!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

It hit him out of the blue one day. He was just laying on the couch channel surfing on his day off. Dean had to work that day at the Home Improvement Depot. He didn't like the job any more than Sam liked his own but it was paying the bills.

There was no warning of the thought, nothing on the television that should have triggered it either. Sam supposed that's how epiphanies worked.

He didn't love Amelia.

No, wait, that wasn't the right kind of statement. Sam _didn't_ love her now of course, he had Dean. That wasn't exactly what he had ever planned on but he was happier then he'd ever been.

He _hadn't_ loved Amelia, that was it.

Sam cared about her, cared a lot. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to be safe, hoped that she was okay where ever she was and whatever she was doing now. Sam hoped that she was happy with her husband, he really, really did.

Sam hadn't loved her though, not the kind of love that people in an intimate relationship are supposed to have.

Sam wanted to love her. They were both broken and hurting, having lost the people they loved the most in the world. That should have told him something right away. Starting a relationship with some one because you're both kind of messed up probably isn't a good long-term plan.

They needed each other, that was it. They just plain needed one another.

That wasn't exactly a bad thing. What was bad was mistaking what they had, for love. Yes, they rushed into things and moved in together too soon and Sam had embraced it wholeheartedly because he needed Amelia like she needed him.

Sam wanted to love her, though. He wanted to love her so much he convinced himself that he _did_ love her.

In the end though, he didn't love her, he loved the _idea_ of her. Sam loved the life he was creating. His new little cocoon of normalcy. No hunting, no fear, no immediate threat of the world coming to an end. It was like Stanford again. Sam was free and if he had a Dean shaped hole in his heart, he could deal as long as he had Amelia . . . and the dog. It was normal, apple pie, civilian life and it stretched out in front of him for the rest of his life. He could see the house and the white picket fence and the 2.3 children and Sam wanted it. He wanted it more than he wanted anything in his life.

Except Dean but he couldn't think about that because it still hurt too much.

Amelia was broken and hurting but she was normal and that's what he loved. She didn't ask too many questions, she didn't press for details of his life. She was perfect and again, blessedly normal.

With Amelia, Sam could pretend he never had the blood of a demon in his veins, he could pretend he never had visions and never pulled demons out of people with his mind. He could pretend that he was never addicted to drinking demon blood and hadn't helped to start the apocalypse, pretend his body had never walked the earth without a soul, the soul that was trapped in a cage in hell for over a century, being tortured by Lucifer himself.

Sam could pretend he didn't know where people went when they died.

He could pretend that he didn't know what it was like having his brother die over and over in his arms in a thousand different ways and never be able to stop it.

Playing pretend doesn't last forever though.

Dean came back and it was over.

Sam could say that he left because her husband wasn't really dead after all and he just wanted to give her a chance to be with him again. Sam needed to let them have their chance but really, he knew he'd never go back.

As long as there was Dean, there would be hunting.

For a while he was so angry about it, so ready to run right back to Amelia. Back to normal.

But when the opportunity presented itself, when he had the blessings of his big brother to go back and get back his normal, safe life, he chose Dean.

If he had loved her, he would have gone back, just for the possibility that they could have had.

He would have gone back for Jess.

Sam would always go back for Dean.

Even when what they had wasn't normal.

The realization that he had fallen in love with an illusion didn't hurt exactly but it did make Sam profoundly sad. He felt a little like he had deceived Amelia, more than that he knew he had deceived himself. If he had gone back to be with her, would he be able to delude himself for the rest of his life? Or would he wake up one day, when it was too late to do anything about the mistake he made?

If he had gone back, he might not be with Dean now.

That thought frightened him a little.

Sam heard the front door open and slam shut again. Dean was home and he pulled off his jacket and his shoes before strolling into the living room and dropping down onto the chair adjacent to the couch.

"It's official," Dean announced, kicking his feet up on the coffee table (simply because it bugged Sam when he did that), "I totally hate standing on concrete all day. I never did that even when I worked construction. Maybe I should do that again, at least I wouldn't have to do any of this customer service crap. Dude, you shoulda - mmph -"

Dean's rambling was cut off as Sam suddenly launched himself off the couch, straddled his lap and kissed him hard, licking his way into Dean's mouth. Dean responded with enthusiasm and pulled Sam against his body.

When Sam came up for air, Dean let him pull back, giving him a quizzical look.

"Where did that come from?" He asked, pouncing wasn't really Sam's style, too used to being big enough to possibly crush his partner.

Sam opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to explain what he felt, of all the revelations he'd had just a moments ago. It was all too much, he couldn't condense it and simplify it fast enough.

What came out was, "I love you more than I love normal."

Sam knew that it didn't make a lot of sense, he didn't need Dean to quirk an eyebrow at him and look at him like he'd just started speaking Mandarin.

"Okay," Dean said slowly, drawing the word out. "Random."

Sam just smiled and kissed him again. He could explain later.

Besides, he knew now it wasn't just that he loved Dean more than he loved normal.

He was beginning to realize that normal was relative.

Dean was and would forever be Sam's normal.

And that was all he needed.


	7. Hair

**I've now put these in order so that this fic comes before the birthday fic, as it was supposed to.  
**

**This one's smutty, to let y'all know. And just so you know this isn't just something made up, I've had first hand experience as a puller. TMI but I think it's important to know that.**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Dean used to think he knew everything about Sam. To be fair, he was mostly right.

That's probably the reason why he didn't think that part would change once they started having sex.

Not that he knew anything about Sam and sex except Sam hardly ever had sex . . . unless he didn't have a soul, then he was a bigger slut then Dean had ever dreamed of being.

Other than that, he assumed that Sam's interests were purely vanilla. Probably hadn't even tried much more than missionary. Damn shame, really.

Dean quickly learned that when it came to sex and Sam, he knew nothing.

It was fun though, exciting to learn this part of his brother. Dean knew Sam's body as well as his own, the scars and marks, where his back knotted up first, the face Sam would make when he was in pain and trying to hide it, those were the things he knew.

Now he was having to relearn Sam, the most sensitive spots of skin, what make him squirm, what made him moan, what made him beg. Dean needed to break him down the his basic components, examine him and put him back together again.

That would take time.

Maybe one day, Dean would stop being surprised at every new thing he learned.

Stop being surprised but hopefully always delighted in what he found.

***S*S*S***

Dean was working on his culinary skills one day. Sam came in from jogging around the neighborhood just as Dean took his latest pie master piece out of the oven, strawberry rhubarb. Sam entered the kitchen just as Dean placed the pie on a wire cooling rack.

Sam wasn't the pie enthusiast Dean was. Honestly, anyone who thought that cake and pie were anything alike . . . seriously? Still, Sam seemed to like attacking Dean's freshly made pies, probably because he was Dean's little brother and it was his job to be a pain in the . . . uh, no, not going there now.

Sam made a beeline for the pastry, "Hey, you made another pie."

"Stay away from the pie, Sammy." Dean blocked his path, "I just took it out, it needs to cool off."

Sam pouted, then his eyes traveled from the pie to Dean and his expression changed. Sam went from sullen to predatory in 0.5 and Dean's body shivered against his will. Sam was already in Dean's personal space and it only took a few steps to have Dean against the counter.

Planting his hands on the counter on either side of Dean, Sam leaned in, his lips almost, just _almost_ brushing against Dean's as he spoke, "How long will that take?"

Dean could smell the salty sweat on his brother's skin and was aware that it shouldn't be a sexy smell, it shouldn't turn him on at all. Then again, shoulds and shouldn'ts were probably overrated.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to concentrate as blood is rapidly draining away from your brain is pretty hard work, "About uh, fif-fifteen . . . twenty minutes . . . somethin' . . ."

"Hhhmmm," Sam breathed, "I wonder," he removed his right hand from the counter and popped the top button of Dean's jean's, "how will we pass the time?"

It was such a cheesy line, worse than porn, and it was another thing that shouldn't have turned Dean on which is why shouldn'ts are _definitely_ overrated.

Dean was saved from having to answer as Sam dropped to his knees and wasted no time in getting Dean's dick out of his pants, stroking the semi-hard member a few times before taking it into his mouth.

As Dean used the counter behind him to brace himself he thought his brother had the most amazing mouth in the world.

Most of the time, that's the only coherent thought he had when Sam was sucking his dick.

Sometimes though, Dean's mind would wander. Which is really fucked up because he doesn't know how he can still think during times like this. Times like now, when Sam was tonguing the underside of his cock, then pulling back to swirl that oh-so-talented-tongue around the head, reaching up to massage Dean's balls, applying just enough pressure . . . Dean would sometimes wonder where his oh-so-straight-brother, learned to suck cock so well.

Then the same realization would hit him, hit him just as hard each and every time. Sam's soul spent over a century in a cage with a fallen angel who was really, really pissed at him and probably really, really happy he finally had some company for once.

Then Dean's stomach would drop and his erection would flag.

"Hey, stay with me," Sam voice floated up to him.

Dean looked down at Sam, his hazel eyes heavy-lidded, pupils lust blown.

"Stay with me, Dean." Sam whispered.

Dean slid his hand into Sam's hair and nodded at him. Dean wasn't going anywhere, he just had to stop thinking and start feeling. Sam worked him back to full hardness as Dean kept himself grounded by stroking his hand through Sam's hair.

Dean was pretty sure he had developed some sort of hair fetish. At least, a Sam's hair fetish anyway.

When Sam was a kid, Dean had to comb Sam's hair and he was always getting Sam's hair out of his eyes when it got too long. Dean didn't know when he stopped touching Sam's hair but he remembered the first time Sam went down on him was when it started again. Since then he had become addicted to running his hand through his brother's hair.

Maybe it was a sensory memory, feeling the silken (of course Sam would have silky hair) locks between his fingers reminding Dean of Sam swallowing him down.

Or maybe it was just comfort. Dean certainly didn't get hard every time he combed through Sam's hair with his fingers. When they were on the couch and Sam put his head in Dean's lap, or when Sam laying top of Dean (Sam somehow knew exactly how to lay without crushing Dean) his head on Dean's chest, or when Dean drew Sam up against him in bed at night, his hand automatically went straight to Sam's hair and Dean felt assuaged and content when he had his hands in Sam's hair.

Sam liked it, Dean could tell. He'd sigh and sometimes practically purr, leaning into Dean's touch. He never said anything though, probably afraid that Dean would stop if he did.

Right now, Dean had to stop stroking Sam's hair because Sam was drawing Dean's cock deeper into his mouth and moaning like a goddamn porn star. Dean was close and he just needed to hold onto something and the back of Sam's head a was a good as anything. He had stopped petting but his fingers were still buried in the chestnut strands.

His orgasm took him by surprise. Sam always splayed his hands on Dean's hips, pressing against them. It kept Dean from thrusting and then Sam could torture Dean by not letting him come until Sam was good and ready for him to.

This time, either Sam misjudged how close Dean was or he was being merciful and granting Dean early release.

Either way, when Sam swallowed Dean down to the root and moaned low in his throat, Dean hips tried to snap forward and he came with a shout, his hand tightening involuntarily in Sam's hair, gripping it hard. If it weren't for the roaring in Dean's ears, he might have heard as Sam continued to moan, even though he usually stopped when Dean came so he could swallow. Though, he did feel the bite of Sam's nails as his brother suddenly gripped his hips hard, the pain heightening the pleasure.

When the haze cleared from Dean's eyes he looked down. Sam was still on his knees, staring up at him with glassy eyes looking dazed.

"C'm'ere," Dean reached down and pulled on Sam's shoulder.

Sam stood, letting Dean pull his head down in a heated kiss. Dean could taste himself mingling with the taste of what was just Sam. When he ran his hand down the length of Sam's chest, intending to return the favor, Sam caught his hand.

Dean drew away with confusion, "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head, "Nothing . . . It's . . . I already um . . ."

A very fetching shade of pink spread across Sam's cheeks.

"You already came?" Dean asked, surprised and disappointed.

Sam ducked his head, "Sorry."

Dean shook his head with a chuckle, "Never mind, Sammy." He took a hold of Sam's wrist and tugged him out of the kitchen, "We'll just call it round one." Dean smirked over his shoulder at his brother as he pulled Sam down the hall towards the bedroom.

Dean didn't have the ability to think about anything for the rest of the afternoon.

That night, however, while Sam slept, his ear pressed just over Dean's beating heart, arms around Dean's waist (they were so _not_ cuddling and he would shoot anyone who said they were), Dean moved his hand through Sam's hair in a repetitive motion, wondering.

Sam had exceptional control when it came to sex. That's one thing he learned since they stopped doing it just to do it and get it over with because Dean needed it.

Now that they were doing it for pleasure, Dean liked to experiment. He wanted to discover all the things that could make Sam lose his control. What made him beg, what made him whimper, what made him come.

So far, Dean had learned that Sam liked it when Dean left bite marks on the insides of his thighs and right on the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Dean could also get Sam to come just by telling him to, in the right circumstances, Dean didn't even have to touch Sam to get that to happen.

Sam had never gotten off just by blowing Dean. Sure, if Sam was touching himself at the time. Coming in his jeans without any stimulation though, that was unheard of.

Dean could think of only one thing that happened that was different from the other times, he would just have to wait until the right moment to test his theory.

***S*S*S***

Dean had decided long ago that kissing was an art. He did a lot of practicing to get it just right. He was highly adept in the many, many forms of kissing.

Kissing Sam was different from kissing anyone else. It had quickly become one of the things he enjoyed most about being with his brother in this way. In fact, it had to be in the top ten . . . five . . . three, definitely top three things he liked doing with Sam.

It didn't always lead to sex either. Dean could literally spend more than an hour just kissing his brother. Especially like this, when they were sprawled out on the couch together, Sam using Dean as a mattress, the television having become just background noise, Dean's hands in Sam's hair, kissing languidly. It was so easy to get lost in this but Dean reminded himself to focus. Sam was relaxed and comfortable and now was the time to test his theory.

Under the pretense of angling Sam's head, Dean tightened his hold in Sam's hair slightly, making sure that his hand were close to the scalp so Sam would feel it but wouldn't find it painful. Dean felt Sam gasp and then sigh, slowing his kiss, making it deeper, more thorough.

Interesting.

Dean tightened his hold more. Sam whimpered quietly. That was another thing Dean was learning. He needed to know the difference between a whimper of pain and one of pleasure. This one sounded like a mix of both and Dean didn't know what to make of it.

So he moved a hand to the base of Sam's skull and squeezed his hair, giving a slight tug.

That did it.

Sam moaned into Dean's mouth and ground his hips against him.

Dean kept up with little tugs and pulls, nothing overtly obvious, he was just testing the waters now. Soon, Sam was kissing him frantically, his hips setting up a rhythmic motion on Dean's leg, continuing to moan and mewl against Dean's lips.

Finally, Sam managed to drag his mouth away from Dean's. He stared at Dean with dark eyes, full of want and need.

"Dean," Sam whimpered, "_please_."

Oh holy fuck, that had to be the hottest thing Dean had ever heard in his whole life.

He quickly maneuvered Sam to the floor and made short work of their clothes. Dean would have cursed that the lube was all the way down the hall in the bedroom if it weren't for the fact that he quickly remembered he could just use his saliva because the hell with fingers, tongues worked better. Sam certainly seem to agree if his constant moaning was any indication.

By the time Dean finally pushed into his brother, Sam was nearly frantic and Dean wasn't far behind. They both came far quicker than either of them would have liked but Dean was okay with that.

He needed to think of his next plan of action.

***S*S*S***

A week later they were in bed together, Dean had three fingers in Sam who was biting down on his lower lip, grunting and trying to grind down as much as possible. Dean could tell his brother was frustrated, he had insisted after two fingers he was fine but Dean had a plan.

Dean was no stranger to sexual fetishes. He'd had his fair share of experience. Nothing hard-core, some light bondage, some spanking, that time he wore a girl's panties because she asked him to . . . and he liked it.

Dean also had partaken in erotic hair pulling and at this point was thankful more than ever that Sam liked his hair long.

Finally, Dean withdrew his fingers, "Roll over."

Sam frowned up at his brother, "What?"

Dean shoved at Sam's hip, "Roll over, c'mon."

Sam shook his head, "Dean, y'know I don't -"

"Just do it," Dean cut him off. "I wanna try somethin'."

Sam eyed Dean dubiously. Dean knew that Sam liked to face him when they . . . well, what Sam would term "made love", friggin' sensitive little bitch he was.

"Trust me, Sam." Dean just told him quietly.

Sam looked at him for a minute before a tentative smile curved his lips. He obediently rolled to his stomach. He let Dean pull him to knees and followed Dean's instructions to grab the headboard. It would be easier to reach him that way. Dean nudged his legs further apart, getting Sam's ass just where he needed it.

Dean slowly slid his length into his brother. He had to hold tightly to Sam's hips because Sam was groaning and impatiently trying push back onto Dean's cock, trying to get more of him in. Dean smirked to himself, Sam wasn't a pushy bottom, he just got impatient sometimes.

When Dean was fully sheathed inside his brother's tight heat he leaned forward and kissed Sam's shoulder.

"Just relax, Sammy." He whispered, "I'm letting go for a minute but I don't want you to move yet, okay?"

Sam looked over his shoulder, an expression of pure want on his face. Then it turned into a pout as he tried his puppy face on his older brother.

"Deeean." He whined before biting down on his lower lip.

Dean smirked again, "Do what I say, you're gonna like it. Promise."

Sam still looked frustrated but faced forward with a sigh, gripping the headboard hard.

Dean reached up both hand and ran his fingers through Sam's hair. His brother sighed again, more dreamily this time, leaning his head back, his hips making involuntary movement. Dean gathered up as much of Sam's hair as he could in one hand. He leaned forward and kissed the back of Sam's neck. The younger Winchester shivered at the contact.

"Do you trust me, Sammy?" Dean whispered as he put his other hand back on Sam's hip.

"Yeah, Dean." Sam answered quietly and without hesitation.

Dean leaned back slightly into a comfortable position, then slowly started pulling back Sam's head by his hair.

Sam's eyes closed and his mouth fell open. Dean kept pulling until Sam let out a whispered "fuck" and then Dean started to move, still keeping a grip on Sam's hair.

Sam wasn't doing the loud moaning that Dean had grown accustomed too, it wasn't even the soft panting and quiet groans from before they moved here.

Sam was panting, yes, but it was a shaking, harsh panting. Sam's whole body was trembling, he pushed back on Dean's cock, trying to take control. Dean clamped down on Sam's hip hard, reminding him who was in charge here. To his surprise, Sam whimpered and stilled instantly, Sam's muscles contracted around him and he groaned.

Dean started thrusting harder, keeping one hand on Sam's hip, the other still gripping his brother's hair. Sam was making little breathless sounding moans and Dean could see that he was gripping the headboard so tightly, his knuckles where white.

Dean let go of Sam's hair to grip both of his hips, speeding up the tempo. Sam groaned low in his throat, his head dropping forward.

"_Fuck, Dean_," Sam shouted and Dean knew he'd hit the right spot inside of his brother, "Fuck, fuck . . ."

Dean started fucking Sam fast and hard. He knew that Sam's dick was being sorely neglected but as always, he had a plan. When he was close to his own release, he reached forward, sliding his hand up through Sam's hair and the base of his skull. Gripping hard, he pulled Sam's head back again. His other hand slid up and gripped Sam's shoulder. Still keeping up his rhythm, he leaned far enough in that his lips brushed against Sam's ear.

"Gonna make you come, little brother." His whispered, "Gonna make you come, just on my cock. So pretty when you come for me, baby. I'm gonna come inside you, gonna fill you up, baby boy."

Sam was making the shaky sounding pants again, "Fuck, Dean," he whimpered, "Please, please, please, Dean, _please_."

That nearly made Dean lose it right then but he held on, licked the shell of Sam's ear and whispered, "Come for me, Sammy."

Sam came right on command with a shout and Dean's name drawn out on what sounded like a sob. His muscles clamped around Dean's member and his rhythm stuttered, with a low groan he shot his load into Sam's tight channel, still managing to keep a grip on Sam's hair and shoulder.

When it was over, he found he had relinquished his hold but he was pressing Sam down on the mattress, his brother having given up his own hold on the headboard.

Dean managed to find just enough energy to roll off of Sam so he could stare and the ceiling, still breathing hard.

"What . . . the fuck . . . was that?" Sam panted next to him.

If Dean had the breath, he would have laughed, instead he managed for force out, "Hair . . . pulling."

After a few minutes passed, Sam said in a quiet voice, "Hair pulling?"

This time, Dean chuckled, looking over, he could only see Sam's eyes, the rest of his face obscured by his arm, he had that little wavy line between his eyes.

"Erotic hair pulling," Dean explained with a smirk. "No big deal, little bro. You just like having your hair pulled while being fucked senseless."

Sam seemed to think about this for a few minutes before moving closer to Dean, throwing his arm around Dean's waist and resting his head on his shoulder once again. It was _not_ cuddling, it was . . . it was . . . well, Dean didn't know what it was but it wasn't cuddling, goddamnit.

"Why?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean with those damn puppy eyes.

Dean almost rolled his own eyes, his ever sensitive little brother was once again looking for reassurance that he wasn't a freak. Well, truthfully, Sam was a freak . . . but so was Dean, at least they were the same brand of freak. None of that type of freak though, had anything to do with bedroom kinks. Dean was an awesome big brother, so he just smiled at his not so vanilla little brother.

"Why the hell not? " He said, "It's not all that weird, y'know. Lots of people are into it."

"Yeah?" Sam asked looking down, then reaching up to fiddle with Dean's amulet.

"Just think about it like this," Dean sighed, starting to run his fingers through Sam's hair soothingly, "at least there's now a valid reason for that mop of yours."

Sam pressed the side of his face against Dean's shoulder and he could feel his little brother's smile against his skin.

It was quiet for a while and Dean had almost drifted off when he heard Sam ask, "We're doing that again, right?"

With a small tug at the hair at the base of Sam's skull Dean whispered, "Fuck, yeah we are."


	8. Happy Birthday, Sammy

**Did anyone honestly think I'd let Sam Winchester's birthday pass without acknowledgement?**

**Besides, Schipperkes are SOOOO CUTE!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean singing in the shower.

No seriously, Dean did that sort of thing. He hadn't done it often when they were on the road and hunting, only when he was in a particularly good mood. Or when he had a particularly hot date. Or when he'd had particularly amazing sex the night before.

In the past, Sam hardly ever knew which one it was and hardly ever asked. Now though, he knew for a fact it wasn't number two or number three. He never doubted Dean's faithfulness, his loyalty was legendary. So that left number one, just being in a good mood for no particular reason. Or maybe it was because it was Dean's day off and Sam's day off and they had all day to work on number three.

Sam rolled onto his stomach and smiled into his pillow, he could live with that.

He dozed off again and didn't wake until Dean literally pounced on him, straddling his waist from behind.

"Rise and shine, Sammy." He crowed.

Sam grunted and Dean climbed off him and bounded across the room to open the bedroom curtain wide.

"It's a beautiful . . . grey and cloudy day," Dean said cheerfully.

Sam turned over and sat up, this was one side effect of Dean being in a good mood without having gotten laid. Instead of being sated and relaxed, he was like an excitable puppy.

Sam yawned, "What time is it?"

"Little after nine," Dean answered now rifling through the dresser under the window, his back to Sam.

Dean was already dressed in a pair of beat up jeans, his back still looked damp, like his hair and there was water beaded on his broad shoulders. Sam suddenly felt parched and wanted nothing more than to lick away the moisture that was clinging to Dean's skin.

When Dean pulled a shirt on, Sam frowned, very nearly pouting. Sam wanted to tell him to take that damn shirt off and get back in bed.

What came out was, "Did you use all the hot water?"

"Nevermind that now, I'm makin' breakfast so get your sweet ass out of bed." Dean said before he practically sprinted out the bedroom door.

Sam flopped back in bed with a groan. Dean was way too chipper today and the thought that this was before coffee was honestly frightening. Even suspicious. Sam raised his head and glared at the empty doorway in mistrust before thinking that it might have something to do with the fruits and vegetables that he had introduced to Dean's diet. His warrior brother was actually becoming quite the culinary master but he would whine like a petulant eight year old, he'd still eat them anyway. Sam often thought that Dean actually liked what he was eating but he'd never admit that to Sam. The fridge was also chock full of fresh fruits and there was very few chips and Bing Bongs, much to Dean's annoyance. Sam pointed out that if Dean wanted more "Dean Friendly" snacks he was more than welcome to come to the grocery store with him at which Dean would just huff and pout and mumble something about "girly" and that would be that, Dean would be stuck munching on fruit. Still, Sam always made sure that they had plenty of Dean's favorite beer on hand to compensate for the fact that Dean had to eat less corn syrup and greasy fries that he had grown accustomed to on the road.

Now that they didn't really hunt anymore, they had to think about their health. They might actually make it to old age now.

The smell of coffee, eventually got Sam to drag himself out of bed and down the hall of their small, yet, comfortable and most importantly, _paid for_, three bedroom house.

Sam squinted at the light offered by all the opened curtains now that the sun had broken through the clouds. Okay, sunshine he could handle and a chipper Dean he could handle, though he didn't exactly want to handle them at the same time right after waking up.

If he didn't know better . . .

"Dude, are you high or something?" Sam asked, sitting down at the table across from the kitchen as he watched Dean scurry around, making scrambled eggs and breakfast sausage.

Dean poured a two cups of coffee and slid one across the table to Sam.

"What, a guy can't be in a good mood?" Dean asked before taking a drink.

Sam rolled his eyes and got up to grab the half & half from the refrigerator. Dean always acted like it was some sort of crime to defile coffee with cream and sugar.

"Not you in the morning without caffeine," Sam answered as he sat back down. "Not with all this bright shiny sunshine blinding us, either."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean chirped, "I just feel good."

Sam shook his head and in a matter of minutes he had a plate of eggs, sausage and buttered toast in front of him. Dean even included a glass of orange juice. Everything would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that Dean seemed like he was trying to set the world record for speed eating.

"Dude, you might wanna chew before you swallow." Sam told him.

"In a hurry," Dean managed to say between bites.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I can see that."

Dean gulped down the rest of his coffee and then gathered up his dishes to put them in the sink. Afterwards, he headed for the front door.

"Gotta go," he called, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his jacket.

"Go?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, he wasn't even halfway done with his own breakfast. "What do you mean go?"

"I got some errands to run," Dean tossed over his shoulder, "call y'later."

Dean was out the door before Sam could say anything else, leaving Sam to gape in disbelief after him.

So . . . that was completely random.

Sam frowned in confusion, the hell was that about? This was getting more suspicious by the minute.

After Sam finished breakfast and was drinking his second cup of coffee, he glanced at the calender and nearly choked, he suddenly realized it was his birthday.

Birthdays on the road were usually celebrated with a "happy birthday, dude" and a case of beer, maybe even choice of dinner when they had the money. Occasionally, you might even get a real gift, that didn't come from the local gas station, if you were very, very lucky. It was usually a weapon for Dean or a book for Sam but those were extremely rare occasions.

Their father had made a real effort for them on their birthdays. Always with a present, always with a special dinner. They had even gone to Chuck E. Cheese once. Sam was too young to remember that one. When Dean turned 12 he asked for his own gun and when Sam turned 12 he asked for a computer. It was a mark of how different the two were and they both got what they asked for.

It took a few minutes for Sam to work out how old he was. After spending almost two centuries in hell, you tend to lose track of time. Sam felt very old but he was on the good side of 30 now. Pretty good considering there were times he didn't think he'd see 25 let alone 30.

Sam sighed, he wondered if his birthday had anything to do with Dean's odd behavior. Sam knew he'd feel a little guilty if it did, they hadn't done anything for Dean's birthday. Then again, the witch they were trying to find so they could get the curse she put on Dean lifted, then kill her, gave them a house that day.

Sam shook his head and decided to just go about his usual daily routine, which included a daily jog.

Dean complained endlessly about Sam jogging. He didn't get running just for the sake of running. He also complained about the lack of sidewalks. Not the he was concerned about Sam getting hit by a car or anything. Not at all. Just, if Sam was going to insist on jogging, why not go somewhere that had sidewalks? It would be easier. Or maybe there was a jogging trail, or something.

In fact there was a bike trail that joggers also used but that was in town and you pretty much had to circle the entire town when using it. Jogging in the neighborhood was just more convenient.

Dean never complained about the weights Sam used in the garage. No, Dean was quite content with Sam lifting weights. As long as he was in a pair of shorts and nothing else, Dean didn't have a word to say.

So Sam went for his jog, had a workout, then he took a shower.

Instant boredom hit after that.

Sam hated boredom but he hated hunting more so he supposed being bored sometimes was the trade-off. Then again, it was his birthday. Dean should be here, doing unspeakable to Sam's body with his tongue.

Sam called Dean's cell and was not surprised that Dean didn't pick up. He thought about leaving a message but didn't want to sound like a pissed off girlfriend who's been forgotten on her birthday.

Sam thought about trying to make a cake then laughed at himself. The last time he tried anything ambitious in the kitchen had ended in one big mess and a very disgruntled older brother. Dean had quickly claimed the kitchen as his domain much to Sam's surprise. So Dean did all the cooking and Sam ended up having to mow the lawn . . . and Dean called _him_ a girl.

It was almost five, as Sam was contemplating get drunk by himself, when he heard the Impala pulling into the driveway. Sam kept sitting in his chair in front of the silent television, face set on bitchface #4. He didn't know why he was so annoyed about Dean being gone all day on his birthday. In all honesty, it was probably because he was so bored all day. At any rate, he was annoyed and he was going to stay that way, dammit.

That was, until the front door open and smallish black dog bounded into the house and right up to Sam, barking happily.

"What the," Sam started, sliding off the chair, "Dean?"

"Kodak, actually." Dean said, walking into view with an arm full of stuff and dropping it all next to the television.

Sam had started to pet the dog to calm it down, it was a very fluffy dog, and it couldn't seem to stay still.

"It's a dog," Sam said looking up at Dean.

"Now I can see how you got into college, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen.

"I . . ." Sam trailed off, he wasn't sure what exactly was going on.

Dean returned to the living room with a beer and leaned against the wall watching Sam and the dog.

"It's a Schipperke," Dean explained after a long pull on the beer. "I got a good deal on it too, they can get expensive. There's this guy I work with that was willin' to sell him to me pretty cheap in exchange for some work on his 1972 Firebird. He was moving and couldn't keep the dog so . . ."

"You got me a dog," Sam said slowly.

"His name is Kodak," Dean said, scratching at the beer label. "He's two, he's got a bed n' dog toys n' everythin'. I stopped by work and got supplies to put in a pet door, he's got one of the grass pad things he can use when we're not here to take him out, so we could put that in the garage. I stopped by that pet store next door and got him a new tag for his collar . . . y'know you can actually take your dog in the store with you?"

"You got me a dog," Sam repeated, mystified. "Dean . . . you don't like dogs."

Dean shrugged, "I like _you_." Then he smirked, "'Sides, figured you could use company when you go runnin' or whatever. I hear they're pretty good watch dogs, anyway."

Dean strode over and kissed the top of Sam's head, "Happy birthday, Sammy."

Before Dean could move away, Sam caught his wrist and drew him down for a more thorough, satisfying kiss.

It was the best birthday, ever.


	9. Rooms

**Hell, they got their own room in canon so why not? Sorry that Kodak isn't mentioned, there wasn't much reason for it.  
**

**Not that I'm out of ideas because I'm not (and now WIT going a little smoother finally) but I'm taking requests for Domesticated. I can't promise to meet all requests but I'll do my best. I can't do anything about how they got together like this because that will be a separate story eventually. Either PM me or ask in the comments.**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

The modest one level house had three bedrooms. At the end of the hall to the left was the bathroom. Straight ahead there was a decent sized room, the master bedroom was next to that. To the right was a linen closet and a room that was only slightly larger than the closet.

Sam and Dean had lived in each others back pocket almost their whole lives. They grew up in motel rooms but occasionally they had stayed in apartments and houses. They had never had their own room, though. Never a space they could claim as their very own.

Living in this house, now that they were together (as in _together_), it would have been ridiculous to have their own, separate rooms. However, they had the two extra bedrooms, one made up as a guestroom and the other looked like a storage room with selves and odds and end in it.

They didn't really need a guestroom. Everyone they knew who they cared about enough to invite them into their home was dead. Well, there was Castiel but not only did he not sleep but he never seemed to stick around very long either.

Sam, being Sam, immediately went through the entire house, including the crawl space, accessed through the ceiling, in the closet, of the smallest bedroom, took everything they didn't need and sold it on Ebay, Amazon and Craigslist. Anything that wouldn't sell was dropped off at a second-hand store in town.

After that the two smaller bedrooms were left bare, except for the shelves in the smallest room. Sam announced they would each take a room and make it their own space that neither of them could interfere with.

Dean readily agreed. After all these years he could finally have a room to call his very own. He could display his weapons and albums. It didn't really matter that no one would see his room but Sam and him, what mattered was that it was _his_.

Sam would have a room for his computer and all those books he'd gotten from Bobby.

They had an argument about who would take the bigger room. That led to a fight. That led to make up sex a few hours later. Then eventually they used the old stand by of Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Dean actually won this time.

Or maybe Sam let him.

Either way, Dean got the bigger room and once it was set up he was so happy with it, Sam knew that having the smaller room was worth it. Even if he had to cram several more floor to ceiling bookshelves into the smaller room to accommodate the ever-growing library. After all, even if they didn't hunt, knowledge was still power.

Although, when Sam looked around the room, it was kind of sad to see all the shelves and the books and the comfortable computer chair in front of the nice solid desk under the window . . . with his itty-bitty laptop.

Sam loved having his laptop.

His laptop had helped Dean and him out on so many occasion, seen them through some pretty tough times. Even if he'd had to replace it, it was still "his laptop".

Now though, he thought, as long as they were "nesting" so to speak, he could do with an upgrade. He still wanted his laptop, after all. Laptops travel, he could use his laptop anywhere in the house.

Sam needed a desktop computer, even if it was a pretty expensive investment.

Sam not only got his desktop computer, he got _the_ desktop computer. It had every thing Sam could ever want, a clear window showed the inside workings with red and blue lights. With speakers and a subwoofer and the most amazing video card, it was faster than any other computer he had ever owned. Then there was the laser mouse and the dual monitors, two 23" monitors next to each other . . .

And the keyboard glowed.

Dean stood in the doorway as Sam raved about his new computer. He had no idea what his younger brother was talking about. Sam hadn't had a desktop computer since their father bought his very first computer. Every time they stopped anywhere, even just for the night, Sam always insisted that it be hooked up, talking a mile a minute to their father about how you could find anything about anything on the web.

Sam looked as thrilled now as he had back then.

It was worth the expense.

Dean understood the feelings Sam had about his new computer. It was like Dean and the Impala.

However, Dean didn't want Sam to be disappointed by his obvious lack of interest as Sam rambled on and on with technical jargon that Dean didn't get. So, before his eyes started to glaze over he shut Sam up with a kiss.

Then bent him over the desk.

Dean had decided the best part of having their own rooms, was getting to Christen them.


	10. Unspoken

**Hope to post another chapter of WIT at the end of the week  
**

**Till then, here's this which was longer a LOT more serious than I originally intended.**

**Again, taking requests and prompts for this series if any one has any.**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam was fiddling with Dean's amulet again.

It was the end of another long day. The sun hadn't even fully set when they tumbled into bed after dinner. That's not to say they exactly went to sleep then. They never really kissed each other goodnight, they usually made out with each other goodnight. Tonight had been no exception, kissing until it was fully dark. They were too tired to take it further though, even Sam's dog Kodak was already conked out in his dog bed that Sam had insisted on keeping in the bedroom.

Right now, they just lay in bed, shirtless, Dean on his back, Sam on his side, resting his head on Dean's outstretched arm and just . . . _messing_ with the amulet.

He did that a lot. Mostly he did it after a particularly awful nightmare, then for a few days after.

For some reason, tonight, Dean asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Hm?" Sam hummed drowsily.

"Why are you always playing with that thing?" Dean asked, gently tugging on a chunk of Sam's hair.

Sam shrugged with a sigh, "Dunno . . . just like it, I guess."

There was a beat of silence before Sam added, "Like that you have it again."

Dean's throat tightened painfully, still, he forced out, "A totally dick move to throw it away in the first place."

He felt Sam nod against his arm, "A totally dick move not to look for you in purgatory, so I guess we're even."

"Sam . . ." Dean started.

Sam abandoned the amulet and rested his hand over the anti-possession tattoo on Dean's chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, "that's all over and done with."

It was quiet for a few minutes, then Sam said quietly, "Sometimes, I dream about it."

Dean frowned, "About me throwing it away?"

"About when it happened," Dean felt Sam nod again, "and when it happened . . . after."

"After?" Dean asked in confusion.

Sam fell silent, Dean almost thought he wasn't going to answer but then he heard Sam whisper, almost inaudibly, "When it would happen in the cage."

Sam rolled over to his other side, away from Dean.

Dean swallowed hard, then moved over and curled his body around Sam. Sort of difficult when Sam had three inches height on him but manageable. He encircled Sam in his arms, rested on had on Sam's stomach, the other, on his chest.

"You can tell me about it," Dean whispered, dropping a kiss on Sam's shoulder. "You know that, right?"

Sam let out a long sigh, "I know."

Dean's heart clenched. Sam never talked about his time in the cage, not ever. Even when he was seeing Lucifer daily, hourly, Sam wouldn't talk about that either. It seemed strange to Dean that Sam wouldn't talk about those things when he'd always push Dean to talk. Dean hadn't wanted to talk to Sam about hell but he made a mistake when he lied about remembering.

Dean could never lie to Sam.

Not for long, anyway.

So eventually he broke down and told Sam he remember. Then broke down some more and told him what happened. Then broke even further, confessing what he'd done while he was there.

It . . . hurt that Sam wouldn't confide in him what happened.

Dean knew that Sam's hell was worse, so much worse than his own. Sam had no chance to get out of torture. Dean was certain it was daily and constant. Dean was in hell for four months, which meant forty years. He couldn't imagine almost a year and half, nearly two centuries of pain and every kind of abuse there was.

Every kind.

It's not like Dean _wanted_ to know about the horrors of the cage. He just didn't want Sam to think that he couldn't talk about it if he wanted to, if he had to.

"I don't like to think about it," Sam said quietly, as though he could hear Dean's internal musings. "That's why I don't talk about it. Also because I know you, Dean. If I tell you about what happened, then it's going to be a part of you too, you'll think about it and it will hurt you too, they'll become part of your nightmares too. I know, you need to protect me, always. I could maybe be okay with it if you just wanted to share the burden but you don't. You want to take it all, to save me, to protect me, to keep me safe. In the end, it'll just hurt us both."

Sam's hand slid over Dean's on his stomach and he laced their fingers together, like he wanted to make sure Dean would pull away. Of course, that was exactly what Dean felt like doing. Through recent years though, they had learned that it was easiest to talk like this. They never did look at each other before when they had to talk about things that were painful. This was even better, in the dark, Sam facing away. So Dean didn't try to stop him. At least Sam was talking.

"It' okay, Dean." Sam assured him. "It's a part of who you are. I know we've always been a part of each other. I finally realized though, that I'm a bigger part of you than I ever knew. I'm grateful for that, grateful for you, I just wish you didn't feel like you had to be responsible for my life so much."

There was another long silence. Dean struggled for something to say, he needed to say something but he didn't know how to express so many things at once.

All he could do was whisper, "Sammy . . ." into the back of his brother's neck.

That action said, _I want you to be happy. I don't want you to hurt._

"It's okay, Dean." Sam repeated, squeezing his hand.

That said, _I know. I'm okay, I am happy . . . I'm with you._

Sam scooted back, so he was more firmly against Dean, "I'll tell you someday . . . just . . . I can't now."

Dean nodded.

As he drifted to sleep, he murmured, "Bitch."

_Love you._

He heard the smile in Sam's voice as he mumbled, "Jerk."

_Love you, too._


	11. Panties

**Okay, so there's a huge project thing happening at home today so I might not be able to post the next chapter for WIT until tomorrow, I hope. In the meantime enjoy some PWP. Swear to gawd I've never blushed so much while I was writing. And if you think this isn't physically possible, I've seen it done.  
**

**:)**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

"Sam, this is stupid," Dean grumbled.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam whined from the other side of the bedroom door that Dean had locked. "You said you'd do it."

"I changed my mind, Sammy." Dean snapped.

"You promised." Sam sounded like he was a pouting.

"I did not!" Dean shouted.

"Oh c'mon, Dean." Sam whined again.

Dean huffed, staring at himself in the full length mirror, another piece of left over furniture that Sam insisted on them keeping. Dean was _never_ going to get drunk with Sam ever, _ever_ again. At least not so freakin' drunk that he gets to "secret confessions about past sex" stage. Especially when Sam didn't have anything really good to confess, all his more freaky sexcapades happened when he was soulless and when Sam remembered that, he'd also remember hell. Considering all the really horrific things Sam went through in the cage (which he still won't talk about, fuck you very much), it's a time he doesn't really want to revisit. Though there was that story about a chick in college, she put on a Catholic school girl's uniform and called Sam "professor" as she rode him, making him promise to give her an A+.

Dean had to go an confess about the one thing he had only ever admitted to himself. He could at least blame that on being drunk. He still had no idea how he let Sam talk him into this. Must have been something to do with that pleading puppy look, Dean fell for it all the time, he always would too and Sam _knew_ it.

Bastard.

Then again, it could also be the amazing head Sam gave.

Double bastard.

"I look stupid." Dean muttered.

Sam rattled the door knob, "I'm sure that's not true. Look, you saw me in a bunny suit, how much worse could this be?"

"Don't even compare the two," Dean barked. "This is completely different and you know it!"

"C'mon, Dean." Sam repeated, "_Please_?"

That was it, that was the "Dean Kryptonite" right there. That word, in that tone of voice engaged Dean's "Do anything for Sammy" mode.

With a defeated sigh, he went and unlocked the door then stepped to the middle of the room.

"Fine, you can come in. Have a good laugh," he looked up at the ceiling as he heard the doorknob turn. "If you call me Deanna, I swear, I will break your jaw."

The bedroom door opened and Dean waited for the laughter. There he stood, wearing nothing but a black satin g-string with red lace trim (He had steadfastly refused any pastel colors.). He felt ridiculous. Dean felt his face burning and knew he must look like an idiot, standing there in _panties_ and he didn't know how women could where these, the friggin' string making it feel like he had his underwear up his . . . well it _was_ up his ass crack but fuck, that didn't feel good.

There was no laughter and after a solid minute, Dean chanced a look at Sam, sure that Sam was just covering his mouth to contain his hysterical laughter.

Sam was not covering his mouth, in fact, he was gaping at Dean. Not the gaping of some one who is seeing the funniest or even the most horrific sight they'd ever seen. No, Sam's eyes were growing steadily darker as they took in Dean's appearance.

Dean shifted nervously, "Sam?"

Sam's eyes flicked up to Dean's face, his mouth snapped shut. He looked like a wolf who had just spotted the most succulent lamb all on its own in a field.

Sam licked his lips, "Dean." His voice was low and deep and Dean tried to fight the shiver of arousal he felt.

Not that Dean didn't want to feel aroused, just, he had on panties, and that string in his ass didn't feel good. Okay, maybe the satiny material currently cupping his dick and rubbing against his balls felt kind of good. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

Alright, so Dean hated even admitting the truth to himself. Dean Winchester, hunter, warrior, soldier, tough guy, smooth operator, ladies man . . . liked wearing panties. Frilly, lacy, satin panties, goddammit!

Why this was harder for him to accept than the fact that he and his _brother_ presently fucked like bunnies, was anyone's guess. It's not like anyone else would find out about his panty fetish, except Sam, here, now, looking at Dean with so much heat in his eyes that Dean wondered why his brother's gaze hadn't caused him to catch on fire yet. So, if he liked wearing panties and Sam so obviously didn't mind it, then what was the harm in that?

Well, maybe the bruises on his back were harmful. As soon as Sam had gathered himself, he had kicked the door shut (Sam's dog Kodak, had lately become infamous in their house for intruding on their "alone time".) and virtually slammed Dean against the wall faster than he could blink.

Sam ground his jean clad erection against Dean's satin covered dick, which was becoming very interested in the latest developments. He bit down on Dean's collar-bone, sucking the blood to the surface of the skin, eliciting a groan from Dean. Sam reached down and grabbed Dean's right thigh, hiking Dean's leg over his hip to hook around his waist before attacking Dean's mouth. Dean had his arms around Sam's shoulders but as soon as Dean's leg was securely around him, Sam grabbed Dean's arms and pinned them, none too gently, against the wall by the wrists.

That was another thing. It wasn't like Dean hadn't ever slept with anyone who liked to be more dominant. It had never been anything too extreme. Yet, he was not used to being manhandled. More over, he was still coming to terms with the fact that he _liked_ being manhandled. Sure, Dean like to push Sam around as well, Sam seemed to like it too (he thought it was called "switching"). It was nothing like with Sam though, Sam could be downright frightening in his intensity sometimes. He demonstrated dominance and strength in a way Dean never knew his sensitive, quiet (been wrong about that one), shy little brother could. Being shoved against the nearest available surface and fucked by his geeky kid brother, all height and muscle, more graceful and powerful than he'd ever been as a gangly teenager . . .

It was exhilarating.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam growled, releasing his mouth to nip and lick his way down Dean's neck. "So fuckin' hot, so hot, Dean, you're so fuckin' hot."

Dean couldn't do much except pant and groan. He tried to get his arms free, he need to hold onto something, he was precariously balanced on the toes of his left foot, it would give way soon, but Sam held him firmly.

"Gonna fuck you, Dean." Sam rasped in his ear, "Gonna fuck you into this fuckin' wall. I'm gonna fuck you while you wear these pretty, pretty panties, so pretty, Dean. You're so goddamn pretty."

Dean wanted to protest, he wasn't a girl, he wasn't pretty and the last time he had been fucked against a wall while facing Sam, which seemed to be what was going to happen now, he'd been sore for over a week. It was his own fault really, Sam said he could hold Dean up and fuck him and Dean (rather foolishly) told him to prove it. Which Sam did . . . twice. It just wasn't Dean's favorite position, he was always left not having any movement or control over what was happening. Not that it didn't feel amazing, at least at the time, the afterwards though, his ass wasn't the only body part complaining. Maybe he really was getting old.

Dean opened his mouth, trying to voice any of the objections he had but all that came out was an embarrassingly high-pitched whine as Sam devoured his mouth again.

Sam kept grinding against Dean and though the material of his jeans was rough, the satin was still smooth. Dean could only grunt into Sam's mouth repeatedly. Dean was going to fall over any minute though, his leg ached from trying to keep himself upright just on his toes. As if sensing this, Sam released his hold on Dean's wrists and moved back just enough for Dean's foot to plant firmly on the floor, though he kept his other leg wrapped around Sam, even if it did slip down a little.

It didn't last, Sam had only let go so he could rip off his shirt and hurriedly undo his jeans. He pushed them down along with his boxer briefs. His erection sprang free, already leaking precum from the red tip. Then he was back, cupping Dean's ass in his huge hands and lifting, fucking _lifting_ Dean right off the floor, leaving Dean no choice but to wrap both legs around Sam's waist. However, Dean was pressed harder against the wall as Sam bent more, grabbing the back of Dean's thighs. Before Dean knew what was happening, Sam managed to get Dean's calves over his shoulders, thighs against Sam's chest. Dean was almost bent in half, not that he was complaining, Sam's show of strength was a huge turn on. It wasn't the most comfortable position for breathing either but Dean couldn't really think about that with so little blood left in his brain. Dean didn't have anything to do with his arms in the meantime except bracing himself against the wall. Sam used the wall as the leverage he needed to bring one hand up and shove two fingers into Dean's mouth.

"Better get them nice and wet," Sam growled, his gaze intense. "Unless, you want me to fuck you dry."

Dean whined again, sucking the two fingers deeper into his mouth and laving them with his tongue.

Dean was achingly hard now, it only took a few minutes for the front of Dean's panties to become soaked. The combination of his and Sam's precum making the material sticky and wet. As Dean realized this, he started to keen, bucking against Sam who was currently leaving marks all along his neck. Even wet, the panties felt so good against his straining dick.

"Yeah," Sam whispered roughly. "You want it don't you? You want my cock in your ass so bad. You want me to fuck you hard, don't you? I'm gonna give it to you, Dean, gonna shove my dick so far into you, you'll fuckin' choke on it. Gonna be so fuckin' pretty, split open on my cock, gonna make you feel so good, Dean."

Dean groaned deep in his throat. Sam withdrew his fingers now shiny and slick. Dean could hear the popping of stitches as Sam pulled the string of his panties roughly to the side, the action freed Dean's cock from the satin. Sam was still gripping one of Dean's cheeks in one hand and it helped in keeping Dean's ass cheeks apart. Sam circled Dean's sphincter with his finger a few times before pushing in. He was much too worked up to tease Dean and draw anything out.

Feeling the intrusion, Dean moaned, trying to relax which was difficult, bent in half and pressed against the wall. It burned but it was a good burn, lighting him on fire from the inside.

"Fuck Sam," Dean panted, "Fucking, fuck, please, I can't . . . _fuck_."

Sam smirk at Dean's incoherent babbling.

It wasn't long afterwards that Sam took his hand away and pressed his palm into Dean's face.

"Lick it," he commanded.

Dean did as he was told, not even thinking there would be a reason to object.

Once Sam's palm was slicked up he moved it down to his dick and pumped it a few times, then lined it up with Dean's swollen hole. The position was slightly awkward but soon, the head of his cock was sliding into his brother's ass. Dean bit his lower lip, his head thumping against the wall with a groan.

Once Sam had the head of his dick securely inside Dean, he let go of his prick and palmed Dean's other ass cheek, spreading them apart.

"Tell me you want it," Sam panted harshly, "tell me how much you love having my cock in you."

"Fuck Sam," Dean moaned again, head falling forward, "please . . ."

Sam shook his head, "Tell. Me."

Another embarrassing whine forced its way out of Dean. Sam let Dean sink a little, more of his dick sliding into Dean.

"Oh _fuck_," Dean's head hit the wall again. "Fuck me Sam, oh please, oh God, fuck me, I want it, Sammy, I _need_ it, I need your cock in me, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me!"

He could feel Sam chuckle against his thighs in the moment before Sam, well, _dropped_ him would be the most accurate way to put it.

Sam only pulled him away from the wall enough so that more of the burden of his weight shifted to Sam. Dean didn't have the leverage to stop his decent so he dropped down . . . right onto Sam's cock. Now his ankles were on Sam's shoulders, so he was in a better position for Sam to fuck him senseless.

_That_, of course, would be no problem at all. When Sam dropped him, not only was Dean impaled on his little brother's very grown up dick, it slammed Sam's dick right into Dean's prostate.

"Oh fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean yelled, barely feeling the burn as pleasure took over his senses.

Sam didn't wait long to start moving. His cock was practically punching Dean's prostate on each stroke. Dean's nails dug into the paint on the bedroom wall, moaning and keening loudly.

"So fucking hot, Dean." Sam panted in a low voice that sounded like liquid sex, as he fucked up into his brother. "So fuckin' pretty like this. Gonna do this again, Dean. Gonna make you get dressed all pretty for me. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, willing to agree to just about anything.

"Yeah," Sam said, picking up his pace. "You'd love it. Wanna dress you up, put you in stockings, a garter belt and heels, dress you like the little cock slut you are. You want me to, don't you? Put you in a short skirt and paint those pretty lips red, make you into a whore for me. You want that?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," Dean chanted. "Anything, anything you want, just don't fucking stop."

Sam laughed darkly, "Bend you over, lift up your skirt and make you take every inch of me hard and fast, just like you love it. You want it all the time don't you?"

"God, yessss Sam," Dean groaned.

"Fuck yeah, y'do. Make yourself come." Sam demanded, "I wanna see you come, wanna see how much you love this, make yourself come for me."

Dean nearly came from the command alone, he could feel the vibrations of Sam's voice flow through him.

Dean managed to pry his hand loose from the wall behind him. It only took a couple of quick strokes before he was coming in thick ropes over his and Sam's stomachs and chests. Somehow, he still found the strength not to go completely limp. Part of what was keeping him from falling was his own ability to stay upright.

After a few more thrusts, Sam came with a groan. Dean could feel the scorching heat in him and his own cock twitched. There was something unbelievably erotic about having his brother coming inside of him.

Sam stood there panting for a few minutes before helping Dean get his legs back on the floor. It was surprisingly easy. However, when Sam stepped away from him, Dean only managed to stand for a few seconds before his knees buckled.

"Whoa, whoa," Sam caught him around the waist and dragged him the two feet of distance between them and the bed. "You okay?" He deposited Dean on the bed and cupped the side of his face, looking at him with wide, concerned, puppy eyes.

Dean almost laughed, "M'good." He muttered.

He was good, he was perfect, he was exhausted, a little sore and he'd be feeling this for days, maybe even weeks but he was . . . amazing.

"You sure?" Sam asked again, still looking a little worried.

Dean did chuckle then, "I'm fan-fucking-tastic, Sammy."

Sam snorted and shook his head. He got up and grabbed his shirt from the floor, wiped the cum from his front and did the same for Dean. He opened the door, Kodak, rushed in, looked around sniffing then trotted out again. Then Sam pulled back the covers on the bed and coaxed Dean to move over before climbing in to join him. He didn't pull the covers over them, it was too warm now. The last thing he did was pull off the satin and lace g-string, making sure there was no obvious damage to Dean's ass at the same time.

Finally, he pretty much manhandled Dean (again) into a spooning position. Dean might have resisted if he hadn't been as limp as a rag doll. Anyway, at least he knew that Sam would never call him the little spoon if he wanted to keep his teeth.

"I think I ripped your panties," Sam said quietly after a minute.

"S'okay," Dean mumbled, "I'm sure we can get another pair."

Sam kissed his temple, "Yeah?" A smile was clear in his voice.

"If you wanted." Dean said in what he hoped was an offhanded sort of way. "If you were y'know, interested in doing something like that again."

Sam huffed a laugh, "I might be."

Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Dean started to doze off before Sam nudged him.

"What about the stocking?" He whispered. "And the garter belt?"

Dean twisted his neck to look at Sam, "You were serious?"

Sam smiled wickedly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "I don't think so, that's taking it a little . . ."

He trailed off as Sam eyes turned on his pleading puppy face.

Dean sighed, "We'll see."

_Bastard_, he thought as he felt his heart warm as Sam smiled happily and kissed him.

And kissed him again.

And again.

Twenty minutes later, Dean's hands were tangled in Sam's hair as Sam swallowed his cock.

Sam knew how to get what he wanted.

_Double bastard._


	12. Fireworks

**Okay, so I lied about the new What It Takes chapter, it got a little out of hand. I'm shooting for Sunday now.**

**Happy Fourth for America!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

It was a beautiful July day, the sun was shining and Sam was making rounds in the local supermarket parking lot, trying to find a place to park that was in the shade. Since the Impala was black, it soaked up a lot of heat, so when it was warm it became an oven, when it was hot, it became an inferno.

Sam didn't drive the car often. There were only two things that Dean would die for, his brother and his baby. So when both his reasons for living were more than a few feet away from him, he got a little nervous. Nevertheless, Sam had to go shopping. Dean didn't mind shopping all that much but he didn't like shopping with Sam. It wasn't that sometimes they got looks from people who thought they were a couple (Sam didn't remind Dean that, although they were still brothers, they were also, for all intended purposes, a couple.), it was the fact that shopping took twice as long. For some reason, they had to debate with each other about every thing that went into the shopping cart. In addition, Sam always skipped the produce section to go to the produce stand across the road from the market because they had fresh, organic produce that wasn't overpriced.

Sam finally gave up, figuring that even if he found a shaded area, it would be long gone by the time he came out of the store. He got out and locked the door, making sure that the driver window was cracked slightly so that the air pressure inside wouldn't expand in the heat and end up blowing out a window.

A stand at the opposite end of the lot caught his eye. Sam wondered how he hadn't noticed it before but figured he had been too focused on the perfect parking spot.

It was a firework stand.

_Of course_, he thought.

It was July 2nd, only two days until Independence Day.

Sam and Dean had lived in many places where fireworks were legal and also where they were illegal. Here they were illegal except on Independence Day. John didn't really approve of fireworks; they had firearms to take care of. They didn't really celebrate the Fourth of July. Something that bothered Sam when they were kids, after all, fireworks were cool and there always seemed to be a shortage of fun in their lives, especially in the summer when there were no distractions from hunting.

A slow smile formed on Sam's face as he remember one summer night, many years ago. Dean had taken Sam out to field and they'd lit fireworks, he'd had the time of his life and he remembered hugging Dean around the waist, happy to have such an awesome big brother. Dean had done that for him, Dean always did things for Sam to make him happy, to make life better for him. Dean always put him first.

Sam headed over the stand.

***S*S*S***

The sun was setting on July 4th when Sam all but pushed Dean out to the garage. The smell of barbeque hung thickly in the neighborhood. Dean had insisted on trying his hand at it too since it smelled so good. It had been perfect but then, most of Dean's cooking experiments turned out surprisingly well.

"Just get in the car, Dean." Sam insisted, "Passenger side, _I'm_ driving."

"But," Dean looked forlornly through the door, "there's a Twilight Zone marathon."

"Stay, Kodak," Sam instructed as he shut the door. He would like to have taken his dog but many people lost their pets during Independence Day due to the fireworks spooking them.

"You've been watching The Twilight Zone all day," Sam said, going to the other side of the car. "They'll be another marathon on New Years."

Dean grudgingly got into the car with a pout.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked as Sam backed out of the garage and onto the street.

"I told you," Sam looked over with a wide smile. "It's a surprise."

Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "I don't like surprises."

"You _love_ surprises," Sam shook his head.

Dean huffed, "I love surprises that involve you, me, alcohol and sex."

"Well, how do you know it doesn't?" Sam chuckled.

"Does it?" Dean asked, looking hopeful.

Sam laughed, "I told you, it's a _surprise_."

***S*S*S***

It was dark when they reached the abandoned field Sam had taken great pains to find. They had traveled through a few neighborhoods, Dean kept commenting on the fireworks that went off around them. Sam was worried that other people were going to use the field he located; thankfully, it was still deserted when they got there. Sam had come by earlier that day and set up a protective circle (you could never be too careful) and a bucket of water to put the spent fireworks in.

Sam coaxed Dean into the circle before going back to the trunk of the car.

"What's going on?" Dean called to him, "Is this some sort of weird sex ritual or something? Not that I'd mind, just, y'know, I'd like to be informed."

"Close your eyes," Sam told him, shielded behind the trunk lid of the Impala.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean said in a condescending voice.

"Humor me." Sam said, and then added in his irresistible pleading tone, "Please?"

Sam heard Dean's dramatic sigh following by his grumbling. Sam smiled and pulled out the package in the trunk then trotted over to stand in front of his brother who was dutifully keeping his eyes closed.

"Okay," He said breathlessly.

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the box Sam held in front of him. He'd bought the biggest variety box of fireworks the stand carried. Sam had hidden it in the garage until today. He looked at Dean anxiously, growing worried when Dean just continued to stare at the box without a change in his expression.

"It's the Fourth of July . . ." Sam said, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Just thought that . . . y'know . . . fireworks . . . could be fun?"

Dean continued to stare.

"Or not," Sam sighed in disappointment. "I dunno, guess it was sort - mmph -"

Sam was cut off as Dean grabbed his head and kissed him fervently. Then he yanked the box out of Sam's hands.

"This. Is. Awesome." Dean stated, looking elated.

Sam grinned in relief. As Dean set about taking the shrink-wrap off the box and setting up the first of many fireworks, Sam got the blanket and the cooler of beer he'd stashed in the car as well.

There were colorful burst of light that last well into the night.

Afterwards, Dean sitting between Sam's legs on the blanket as they leaned against the cooler on the blanket. They both had a drink and were staring up at the stars.

"Thanks, Sam." Dean finally said. "This was fun. Best Fourth of July ever."

Sam leaned forward and whispered, "For the best brother ever." Then hugged him firmly around the waist.

Dean turned his head to look at him, Sam saw understanding in his eyes, and Dean grinned and kissed him.

Then Dean twisted around and tackled him.

More fireworks ensued as they made love under the stars in the warmth of the summer night.


	13. Syrup

**So, still in the midst of trying to find Sam & Dean's voices for WIT, so never fear.**

**In the meantime, last month Lucifer'sForkedTongue requested: _One of them makes breakfast in bed for the other and is then thanked with sex :P_**

**It took me a while and well, it went a little off course (the sex is kinda like in Scars except not so serious). Also, for some reason, I randomly switch perspectives at some point and then switch back, I don't know why but I hope it's not too annoying or distracting. Oh and I've been reading a lot of Paperstorm_88's fics on livejournal, so if there's any similarity, it was unintentional! Anyway, hope you like it, hun!**

**I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

* * *

Sam bit his lip looking at the direction on the back of the box of pancake mix while Kodak danced around his legs looking up at him hopefully. He didn't get the complete mix, he got a better mix that didn't have corn syrup, soy or hydrogenated oils in it. Still, it didn't seem too difficult, an egg, some water, some oil . . . pretty straightforward directions.

Still, the last time he tried anything other than heating a can of soup in the kitchen, it hadn't turned out very well. Dean had to clean up after him and had strictly forbid him from ever trying to cook again.

However, Dean was still asleep, he'd pulled double shifts at work all week and today he finally had some time off. Sam wanted to do something for him. Bringing him some breakfast wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs seemed like a good idea. Maybe naked would be better but Dean liked the dark blue ones he was wearing.

Thirty minutes later, after putting a generous amount of kibble in Kodak's bowl to distract him, Sam walked into the bedroom with a tray loaded with pancakes, butter, pure maple syrup, and fresh orange juice. Dean was sprawled on his stomach, his naked ass just barely covered by the sheet, mouth hanging open as he slept. Sam balanced the tray on one hand as he reached down and grasped Dean's ankle, giving it a shake.

"Hey Dean," Sam said softly, which he realized was odd since he was trying to wake his brother. "Wake up."

Dean grunted, his head jerking up, "Mm?"

"Wake up," Sam repeated, waiting patiently.

Dean rolled over, scrubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, "Whazgoin'on?"

"I made breakfast," Sam said, lifting the tray a little higher.

Dean finally looked at him, eyes still half lidded, "You made breakfast?"

Sam nodded and Dean frowned in confusion, "Breakfast . . . in bed?"

Sam smiled and Dean grabbed the sheet and scooted up to sit against the headboard. Sam walked around the side of the bed and put the tray over Dean's lap.

"Er . . . they're kind of . . . well done." Sam said, referring to the dark brown, nearly black pancakes on the plate.

Dean looked at them with a raised eyebrow, "I can see that."

With a small frown, he picked up a fork and cut into one of the pancakes.

"Looks a little raw in the middle," Dean observed, poking the fork tines at the gooey looking center.

Sam's shoulders slumped. Dean looked up at him and quickly picked up the orange juice and drank half of it.

"Really good juice, Sammy." He smiled.

Sam gave him a sort of sad half smile and picked up the tray, then set it on the dresser.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam said, crawling back in bed. "I dunno, I'm just not a very good cook, I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Sam knew he sounded disappointed and dejected and he hated it. He hated it because he knew it would make Dean feel bad, which he shouldn't.

"Aw, don't be that way Sammy," Dean said in a teasing tone, he slid back down and scooted closer to his brother. "It's the thought that counts." He whispered, leaning in and placing a kiss on Sam's neck.

"I know," Sam sighed, tilting his head to allow Dean better access.

Dean lapped at the pulse point on Sam neck for a few seconds, then pulled away. Sam frowned in disappointment.

"Y'know, maybe the pancakes not working out isn't such a bad thing," Dean said, rolling out of bed,

Sam wasn't going to complain about the view at least, Dean naked was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, not that he'd tell him that. Dean picked up the bottle of syrup and gave Sam a wicked smile before climbing back onto the bed.

"There are much better uses for syrup." Dean leered at him.

Sam's eyes widened, "Dean, no way!"

Dean feigned and innocent look, "What?"

"It's syrup, Dean." Sam pointed out unnecessarily, "It's all sticky and messy, it'll get all over the sheets . . ."

"Sam," Dean said patiently, "we having a washing machine."

"It'll get all in my hair . . .," Sam continued without missing a beat.

Dean laughed outright at that, "We also have a shower, princess. C'mon, live a little y'prude!"

Sam sighed and Dean grinned, nudging his him, "Roll over, big guy."

Sam did, with a frustrated groan.

"You'll like this, Sammy, promise." Dean said from behind him.

Sam pillowed his head on his arms, "You've done this before, haven't you?"

It wasn't accusatory; it was just something that Sam would believe of his older brother.

Dean chuckled softly and leaned up to whisper in Sam's ear, "Not with maple syrup."

Sam shivered at his words. Then he shivered again and bit back a yelp as he felt cold liquid run down the length of his spine.

"Another thing," Dean stated, "always warm up the syrup when making a hot breakfast."

"I'll have to remember that for next time." Sam said slightly sarcastic, he doubted he'd ever try making breakfast again, unless it was cold cereal.

The next thing he felt was Dean's warm tongue licking the base of his spine. He hummed in approval as Dean worked his way up, lavishing Sam's back with open mouth kisses as he licked away the syrup. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Dean poured a dollop of syrup on Sam's shoulder and sucked the skin into his mouth, leaving behind a mark. Sam turned his head and shared a maple flavored Dean infused kiss with his brother.

Then Dean moved back down the bed.

"C'mon baby boy," Dean slapped Sam's ass, "up on your knees."

Sam glared at Dean over his shoulder but it was more for show, he didn't really mind the occasional slap. He pulled his knees up and under himself. Sam felt the cool syrup hit one cheek before Dean licked it off, then the other. Even though Sam suspected what was coming next, he couldn't repress a shudder when he felt the syrup running down the cleft of his ass. He bit his lip when Dean pulled his cheeks apart and pour even more syrup between them, right over his sphincter. It was just so . . . weird. Sam wasn't sure he should be enjoying this and was just a little embarrassed that he actually, rather _did_.

Once Dean's tongue was licking him, Sam decided it didn't matter so much. Dean slurped up all the syrup surrounding Sam's hole. Then Dean licked right over the spot just a couple of times before wriggling his tongue inside his brother. At that point, Sam forgot all about being embarrassed about anything. He moaned loudly and pushed back against Dean's invading tongue. Honestly, he almost believed he could feel Dean smirking against his ass.

Dean worked his tongue in and out of Sam's puckered entrance. He pulled off occasionally to add a little more syrup. Soon he had a finger working along side his tongue, then another. Then it was just his fingers, scissoring and stretching.

By then Sam was a moaning, quivering, needy mess.

"Oh God, Dean," Sam gasped as Dean curled his fingers and pressed against Sam's prostate. "Please Dean, please, want you, need you."

Dean kissed the base of Sam's spine, "Not yet baby boy," Dean said, smile evident in his tone.

He crawled up the bed and opened the drawer of the bedside table to the left of the bed, placing the bottle of syrup on the surface. From the drawer he pulled out a bottle of lube and a clear glass butt plug with a flared base. It had been a bit pricey but so very worth it.

Dean poured enough lube over the plug to coat it completely. He heard a whine from Sam and looked over to see his brother's eyes glued to the plug; he was biting his lower lip looking needy and desperate. Dean never thought he'd seen anything quite so sexy in his life before.

"Gotta keep you loosened up for me, baby." Dean announced with a smirk.

He got behind Sam again and slowly worked in the plug. Sam moaned and tried to push back onto the cool glass but Dean slapped his butt cheek sharply and Sam stilled again, letting Dean do the work. Once it was all the way in, Sam slid back down on his stomach again. His hips started to thrust against the mattress, trying to get some friction. Dean reached up and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, pulling his head back sharply. Sam gasped and stopped his movements immediately, his eyes were closed but the expression on his face told Dean that he wasn't in any pain at all.

"Don't," Dean said lowly into his ear, keeping his voice stern. "Don't move, I'm not done with you."

Sam whimpered and stayed motionless Dean smiled, "Good boy, now roll back over, onto your back."

Dean released Sam's hair and Sam did what he was told at once. He lay flat on his back, his thick, leaking cock standing at attention.

Dean retrieved the syrup and knelt between Sam's spread legs. Sam watched as Dean poured the amber liquid over his dick. Then, even though he was expecting it, even though he was watching his brother, he cried out when Dean's mouth enveloped his cock. His eyes slammed shut and his head snapped back, it took all of his willpower not to come right then. Sam's hips tried the thrust but Dean held them down.

Once Dean had sucked his cock clean, he drizzled syrup over Sam's stomach, onto his navel, Dean took particular pleasure sucking and licking it out of there. He moved up Sam's chest, leaving droplets of syrup to be lapped up. He poured a generous amount on each nipple, sucking the stickiness away as Sam arched underneath him. Finally, Dean left a dollop of syrup on Sam's neck and sucked it away, even though some escaped, rolling back into Sam's hair.

"Dean, please." Sam gasped as Dean left his mark on Sam's neck.

"Please what, Sammy?" Dean smirked, rising up on his arms.

"Please fuck me, big brother." The words left Sam in a rush and Dean sat up hastily, grabbing the base of his own cock to keep himself from coming.

"Fuck, baby boy," Dean rasped, Sam didn't call him that often during sex but it was so incredibly hot when he did.

Dean grabbed the bottle of lube up from the bed where he'd dropped it earlier and set the syrup back on the bedside table.

As he slicked up his cock he told Sam, "Grab your legs, I need you to spread yourself for me, Sammy."

Sam hooked his hands behind his knees, pulling his legs up and keeping them spread as Dean took his position in front of him. Dean pulled the plug out slowly, Sam whimpered slightly at the sudden empty feeling but he didn't have to wait long before Dean was filling him back up again.

Dean sank in slowly, they groaned simultaneously at the sensation. Once Dean bottomed out, he rocked his hips a few times before lowering himself over Sam and kissing him deeply. Sam let go of his legs and wrapped them and his arms around his brother. With a sharp cry, he broke this kiss when Dean abruptly pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in.

Evidently all done with teasing, Dean set up a harsh rhythm. Sam wasn't complaining, he was matching Dean thrust for thrust. He was his usual loud self, moaning like a porn star except the sounds were genuine instead of scripted. Dean kept changing angles until finally, Sam's back arched and he cried out impossibly louder.

"That's got it," Dean panted, attempting the angle repeatedly, trying to hit Sam's prostate every time.

Dean's hand closed around Sam's cock and began stroking it more or less in rhythm with his thrusts. He squeezed his eyes shut; he didn't think he could hold out much longer.

"Gonna come for me, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Gonna come for your big brother, baby?"

There was a sudden silence, a soft utterance of "oh fuck" right as Sam's entire body went rigid. With his eyes still closed, Dean crashed his mouth into his brother's as he felt Sam's back bowing in slow motion as his orgasm crashed through him. Sam was virtually screaming his release in Dean's mouth, his cock spurting between them, coating Dean's fingers. The feeling of Sam's muscles clamping around him caused Dean to shatter, moaning into Sam's cry.

Afterwards, he lay on top of his brother, both breathing hard and neither seeming inclined to move. Sam's fingers traveled lightly down Dean's sweat dapple back and he hummed in content. That seemed to rouse his older brother who pulled out carefully (Sam winced anyway) before flopping back on the bed.

"That was awesome," Dean declared.

Sam laughed quietly, "Yeah . . ."

"Thanks for breakfast," Dean smirked.

"Welcome," Sam grimaced, "I feel all sticky."

Dean wiped his hand on the sheets, "Yeah, I think it's time for a shower."

Sam nodded his agreement, "Together?"

"'Course," Dean rolled his eyes though smiled, looking at Sam fondly.

Dean got out of bed then extended a hand to help Sam. He gratefully excepted, his legs felt a little wobbly now.

As Dean led the way to the bathroom, Sam thought that maybe making Dean breakfast hadn't been a complete disaster after all. It didn't turn out the way he hoped but he couldn't help but think that it turned out better than he had expected.

"By the way, Sam." Dean said, turning the shower on, "How big of a mess did you leave for me in the kitchen?"

Sam felt a bright blush steal over his cheeks, "Uuuummmm . . . ."


End file.
